<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Superman, Where Are You Now? by Still_beating_heart</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986189">Superman, Where Are You Now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart'>Still_beating_heart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Because Superheroes need tragic backgrounds, Derek Hale as Superman, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mentioned Kate Argent, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Right?, Sexual Content, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:09:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles might be new to this werewolf thing, and holy Hale, what is that amazing smell?  Derek?  Oh, Derek, all brood and muscles and eyebrows?  He might be Superman.  </p><p>------------</p><p>“It’s too much!  I have too much to do and not enough time!  There are too many scents and most of them are lingering around you and I need to track them all down!  And I need to,” he’s stepping into Derek again, okay, so he gets it at this point that if Derek doesn’t want to be touched maybe it’s going to take more than just some words, or maybe not.  He can’t blame his sudden wolfness for inappropriate or unwanted touches, but it’s Derek.  And Derek smells, “so good,” like extra good today.  That little bit of extra fresh air and why the hell can he still smell jet fuel?  </p><p>His face is plastered against Derek’s shirt collar, those broad sexy shoulders shrug, “words Derek.  I’m going to need so many words.  And you can just start shouting ‘down boy!’ and hitting me with a newspaper or a baseball bat or something if you have to.  ‘Cause I don’t want to touch you if you’re not wanting to be touched, but I just want to sniff you to the end of the world and back and why jet fuel?!”</p><p>------------</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale &amp; Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Superman?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I really, really never should have let Stiles gain a voice in my mind...  I feel as though there are very few circumstances in which canon Stiles would take the bite, but we'll just say it was life or death and he chose life.  </p><p>What started as 'wow, Tyler rocks that Superman suit' turned into something else entirely.  I'm sure this is just another party that I'm late to, but whatever, hopefully there are at least a few elements that are original :)</p><p>Title borrowed from "Land of Confusion" by Genesis.  </p><p>So the Hale fire still happened, Kate Argent still happened and is mentioned.  But we can still forget the bulk of canon.  </p><p>Damn pixies...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Superman Where Are You Now?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god Derek, oh, oh my, oh my god, omigod, oh, oh,” it just keeps falling out of his mouth, it’s uncontrollable, “ohmygawd, ohm, oh god,” shoving his nose along Derek’s spine, the back of his neck, “it’s so good.  Oh my god Derek, it’s soooo good, it smells like,” his hands are clamping down on the counter beside Derek’s hips, he can feel the tickle at his nail beds, “oh my god, it’s just,” his nose is flat against the base of Derek’s spine, sliding over to behind his ears where it’s even stronger, it’s even, “better, it’s so good,” he isn’t even paying attention to how close the rest of his body is, it’s just, “it’s so fresh.  And it’s so good.  It’s like nature.  And skin.  And hair.  And fresh air.  But,” Stiles takes a big inhale where his earlobe meets his neck, “clean air, fresh and clean like no one has ever touched it,” sliding down trapezius muscle like he’s snorting a line, “uh jet fuel?”</p><p>Derek twitches when his nose buries itself to the hilt in his levator scapulae, Stiles allows himself a big whiff of that sweet saltiness with a little bit of tang and, “seriously, jet fuel?  And thin air.”</p><p>Derek doesn’t say anything.  Shocker there.  He just squirms a little, telltale sign he’s getting turned on by the sniff sesh.  Even if he won’t admit it, it’s in his nature, “claws,” it’s gruff but not wolfed.  </p><p>It sets Stiles’ ears back, waiting for an order, but he’s never actually going to follow an order.  Hehehe, “what about them?” he tries for coy, as if that’s anything in his repertoire, removing one hand from where he’s pierced the wooden countertop, sliding a single index claw right up Derek’s center as his chin meets strong shoulder, his nose is still getting hits of jet fuel.  And that’s just weird.  Derek is leather and dirt and fresh air.  Not jet fuel.  He’s been office supplies in the afternoons when he gets home from work at the Daily Beacon Hills newspaper office, which, “remind me why there’s still a newspaper in Beacon Hills that prints on paper?  And what exactly do you do there Derek Hale?”</p><p>“We’ve been over this Stiles,” feigning annoyance, but if he was facing Stiles he knows he’d be seeing twinkling in the eyes, “we print like fifty newspapers a day for the elderly that still like the feel of ink on their fingers and the sound of crinkling paper with every page turn.  And the bulk of our business is done online.”</p><p>“Hmm, and what exactly do you report on Mr Hale?” his nose is buried again, this time the sternocleidomastoid for the longest sniff yet, “jet fuel?  Like, really lightly, but it’s there.  Like you were standing in a jet-stream and then ran through the woods,” toying with the collar of his dress shirt.  Derek opened the collar and loosened the tie when he came in, but there is still entirely too much fabric between them.  Stiles hooks a claw under the knot of the tie.  </p><p>That spurs him to turn in Stiles’ arc, facing him and oh god, the glasses.  He never knew he’d have a thing for Derek Hale in glasses and he never even knew it was possible with all the werewolf superhumanness and all that, but since that adorable little pixie sneezed pixie dust at him that ended up being jadarite, or sodium lithium boron silicate hydroxide with fluorine, or kryptonite if you’re a comic book junkie.  Though the real thing is white powder and the comic book version is green and crystalline.  And the real life version blinds werewolves.  Or in Derek’s case, temporarily blinds him and then permanently fucks with his far-sightedness to make him nearsighted and now he has glasses on all the time and they’re so dorky sexy and perfect in all the ways Derek would never have ever looked dorky sexy before and now he does and it really does things to Stiles’ body.  Namely, his dick.  And that mushy part of his chest, probably his heart, that just silently goes, ‘aaaaah’, every time Derek looks at him through those glasses.  </p><p>“Again with the glasses?”</p><p>Or not so very silently, “you’d think that post-bite I’d be more in control of my verbal diarrhea.  But not so much.  Or is it only since I’ve only been post-bite for a week and I’m still trying to figure this stuff out, and oh my god Derek, you smell just,” he crowds into his space again, this time chest to chest or better than that.  Dick to dick.  He loves being the same damn height.  There is no misaligned junk in this relationship.  There’s no bending or dipping to place the proper pelvis-to-pelvis grind or pelvis-to-ass grind.  Now it’s the hollow of his throat, and he is offering his sternocleidomastoid, he’s offering it.  Putting it on a platter and offering it for the smelling and licking and biting.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Huh?” it’s muffled since Stiles’ lips have decided to just attach themselves to Derek’s throat now.</p><p>“Not really offering it.”</p><p>“Allowing it?”</p><p>A shrug that only serves to flex that delicious muscle and elicit a groan from Stiles’ mouth.  He can feel his teeth beginning to lengthen and he hasn’t figured out how to control all this stuff yet.  The claws were easy.  That was a quick learn.  But the teeth are harder.  Well, since they’re out, he might as well just show Derek how vulnerable he’s just made himself by allowing this.  Allowing.  Oh god, “Derek,” he knew exactly what he was doing by tilting his head that way and now Stiles is wondering how many times he inadvertently in their years together made himself vulnerable.  It was probably so many, “why didn’t you tell me I’m a tease!” his tongue darts out and traces over that muscle and Derek shudders, “I’m going to make a filthy mess of you Hale,” his hands are gripping down on the counter behind him again, boxing him in between his body and the wooden surface, “I’m going to mark you,” pressing his pelvis tight, so tight it probably kind of hurts but it feels so good, “scent every inch of you,” rubbing his teeth along that impossibly sexy line in his mate’s neck, “breed…”</p><p>“No,” the sudden and certain interruption to his monologue jerks Stiles’ head back to look at his face.</p><p>“I’m going for wolf sexy talk now.”</p><p>“It’s not sexy.”</p><p>“It’s not?  You don’t want to be bred?  Filled up with a knot?  Carry my pups?”</p><p>“Aside from that not being possible?”</p><p>“Which part?”</p><p>The brows are half-responding before Stiles cuts him off, “is there a knot?  Why have I knot had a knot yet Derek?  Did you think I could knot handle a knot?  What’s it like?  Do you have to be shifted for it to show up?  Is it like a butt plug?  ‘Cause I’ve never used a butt plug before, but I mean, it can’t be bigger than some of those monstrosities, right?  So if some people are into butt plugs then Stiles, VersaStiles could be into butt plugs.  Or knots,” his eyebrows wiggle and Derek’s expression is reading all kinds of amusement.</p><p>His big paw rises, lands on Stiles’ cheek, it’s a very human paw and it seems to draw some of the zapping of werewolf back a bit inside Stiles’ own body.  He’ll get used to this.  He knows he will.  He took the bite last week, he kind of had no choice.  Last ditch effort to survive, he’s technically one of Scott’s betas now but not really.  He’s still just Stiles who does whatever he wants for the safety and protection of the rest of the pack, he’s just more officially pack now instead of human token.  He’ll get used to it.  He’s not going to complain about the sight, that’s pretty cool.  And the hearing, though he’s not really fond of what he overheard his father telling Melissa the other night after dinner.  He’s going to need to take his auditory cortex out and wash it from that comment.  </p><p>Focus.  Not on that.  On this.  Broodywolf who doesn’t brood nearly as much as he used to but he’s not exactly a Sunshinewolf either.  Contentwolf maybe?  And why does he smell like a jet-stream?  And thin air?  As in thin, like up above the Earth but still in the atmosphere air.  </p><p>He feels his nose twitch and Derek’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile, the best part of learning Derek’s scents, is learning his happy scent.  It’s like fresh baked cookies wafting through the open window and carrying across the breeze through their yard.  All of the scents are amazing, and he understands why Derek has spent a lot of time with his face resting in Stiles’ groin, something that maybe weirded him out but not really the first time he did it, it’s just so thick and undeniably Derek there.  He wants to bury his nose in Derek’s ass.</p><p>“Uh, try to control that.”</p><p>“What?  My erection rubbing against you?”</p><p>“Nose in ass.”</p><p>“Oh.  That.  I’m a wolf now Derek.  I want it all.  I need it all.  I can feel the full moon coming, it’s an itch I can’t scratch and are you going to chain me up, do I have to wear the crown of spikes, how are we going to do that?  Do I get chained up in the yard and howl my head off?  I’m pretty strong now Derek, I could break any of the chains, I could handle the pain of the crown of spikes, I could…”</p><p>“The full moon is two weeks away.  And you’re going to learn control before then.”</p><p>“Oh.  Are you my anchor?”</p><p>He tries to stifle the smile, but he does a poor job of it, “if that’s what works for you, but that’s not always,” Stiles cuts him off by mashing into his lips.  Derek is his anchor.  Of course he is.  Who the hell else would be?  And to prove his point of the whole strength thing, he grabs his big meaty wolf by the hips and sets him up on the counter.  </p><p>“See, strong now,” pulling away from his warm, tender lips just long enough to brag.  Graceful legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer, his tongue darts out to trace over Stiles’ teeth, maybe making sure they’re human and all, or maybe not, “if we were both shifted, would it be…”</p><p>“Shh,” superhuman speed right into Stiles’ mouth to shut him the hell up.  </p><p>Well, that’s fine.  It’s unsurprising since it’s the tactic he’s been using for years now to shut him up.  Unsurprising doesn’t make it less sexy.  Or less melty on the inside.  Or less erect on the outside.</p><p>He lets a claw unsheathe, trails it up the buttons on the dress shirt covering his mate’s chest.  Too much clothes.  Way too much clothes.  His werewolf hearing detects a shift in Derek’s breathing before his human ears do.  Wow, that’s cool.  Two can play this game.  But what does that hitch mean?  Does it mean he was lying about the sexy wolf speak not being sexy?  Does it mean he’s been holding out on a knot for all these years?  Does it mean he’s…</p><p>Oh, he’s shoving Stiles off him, “let me get out of the office clothes before they get torn to shreds,” it sounds all cool and nonchalant like a normal person with a normal office job would sound, but there’s something not quite right about it.  Stiles feels his head turning, just a little, trying to cup more noise into his right ear, trying to pull more Derekness into his brain through his eardrums.  He whiffs the air, there’s something not really off, but sharp?  Hmm, his hands dart out from his sides before Derek can get away from him, grasping hips and tugging him back towards him.  Usually Derek is pulling his tie off by now.  Unbuttoning buttons.  Since when does Derek get all shy about getting naked?  This is Derek.  Raised as a wolf in the woods, all natural and au naturel and not having any qualms about nudity.  Or anything bodily function related really.  </p><p>Stiles’ nose is buried in that perfect muscle and tendon grouping again, snorting lines of sweat and scent and, “Derek.”</p><p>There’s a breath out that’s nearly a grunt, but he shimmies out of Stiles’ grip, and holy Hale, it’s just too much to watch him walking away, “did my libido increase from the bite?  Am I all wolfy madness and,” super hard inhale, “am I going to go crazy aggressive if I don’t get my rocks off?”</p><p>“Uh, no,” like it’s the dumbest question a person has ever asked.  Stiles doesn’t ask dumb questions, okay?  He doesn’t.  He just asks a lot of them.  And sometimes his internal thought processes are external so maybe sometimes the answer to that question is already in his brain it just hasn’t hit his lips before the question does, so sure, sometimes maybe the questions seem a little dumb.</p><p>“There’s no such thing as a dumb question Derek.”</p><p>“Okay,” he’s sliding into the bedroom, and shoving the door shut.  He is shutting the door!  Derek is shutting the door!  That is as close to a sin as any sin could ever be in this house!  This is open door policy all the way between them!  Always!  Unless it’s the bathroom, then, well, doing the big job is a solo thing.  </p><p>But otherwise, Stiles gasps out a, “open door policy big guy!” and pushes it open.  Because it’s his bedroom too, damn it!  And if Derek doesn’t want his body touched, then he can simply say so and Stiles will leave him alone.  While he closes himself in the bathroom and focuses really hard on keeping his claws in while he jerks off.  To the image of that sternocleidomastoid all glistened in sweat and ready for the biting and gnawing and licking and goosebumps.  Oh Hale, the goosebumps are a thing he’s going to have to put there.  And how have they gone this long without having werewolf sex yet?  Well, it took a few days to get used the new body.  And Derek told him they’d have to take everything slow.  It took a day or two to heal and that was probably good since otherwise all the snapping and zapping and crazy new feelings would have been overwhelming if Stiles let them into his already way too busy brain with all the other human things that carried over that he mostly thought would not carry over, but he supposes it’s not like his personality is much different, ADHD be damned, he’s still STILES.  Which means busy.  Always busy in his head.  Except when he’s sleeping with Hulkwolf wrapped around his back.  Then his head is so calm.  Like a babbling brook and wind through maple leaves.  Or so he’s been told.  And how has he not stayed awake to see what Derek sounds like when he’s sleeping yet?!</p><p>“It’s too much!  I have too much to do and not enough time!  There are too many scents and most of them are lingering around you and I need to track them all down!  And I need to,” he’s stepping into Derek again, okay, so he gets it at this point that if Derek doesn’t want to be touched maybe it’s going to take more than just some words, or maybe not.  He can’t blame his sudden wolfness for inappropriate or unwanted touches, but it’s Derek.  And Derek smells, “so good,” like extra good today.  That little bit of extra fresh air and why the hell can he still smell jet fuel?  </p><p>HIs face is plastered against Derek’s shirt collar, those broad sexy shoulders shrug, twisting his face off his body, “words Derek.  I’m going to need so many words.  And you can just start shouting ‘down boy!’ and hitting me with a newspaper or a baseball bat or something if you have to.  ‘Cause I don’t want to touch you if you’re not wanting to be touched, but I just want to sniff you to the end of the world and back and why jet fuel?!”</p><p>There’s that little weird tick in his heartbeat again.  And it’s weird.  They don’t lie to each other.  Ever.  Even when they didn’t like each other very much, they never lied to each other.  So what the hell?</p><p>“Just give me a minute Stiles, I really don’t feel like sewing buttons back on my shirt.”</p><p>“Okay,” he can do that.  He can let him undress.  He can do that.  He totally can.  He totally can.  He takes a step back, but that scent is like a magnet and when he takes a step forward his forehead is met with a big old palm.</p><p>“Out.”</p><p>“I can’t watch?  I won’t touch.  I promise I won’t touch, I’ll just,” his hand is slowly rising, he can see it in his periphery and he’s hoping Derek won’t see it just yet with that bad vision, point to Stiles for having better wolf vision now than Derek but point to Derek for rocking those fucking sexy ass glasses like that.  And oh no, oh no, but oh yes, oh holy Hale he missed it!  Stiles Stilinski pulled a fast one on Derek Hale!  A fast one!  A fast button!  Or two!  </p><p>And, “oh my god,” super deep inhale and holding it and staring and staring and more buttons are popping off left and right and, “oh my god,” and his jaw is wide open and his eyes are going to fall out of his head and Derek is just standing there with his dress shirt unbuttoned now and half tucked still, and his tie is on but loose and holy Hale!  Holy Hale, “it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s,” another giant inhale, if he even let out the first one, happens and it kind of chokes off and sputters out on, ”Superman.”</p><p>It’s that diamond S in red with yellow behind it, and it’s all over his big broad chest and it’s so much, too much, and the blue spandex lycra thing is just, it’s, another giant inhale.  Holy Hale, that is, “how?” Stiles gulps, stepping forward to very carefully pull the tie off.  Derek doesn’t resist a damn thing.  Even if his face is turning all so many shades of blushing and it’s so sexy and so, “why?  How did I not know?  Knot know,” he clears his throat, wiggling his eyebrows, feeling some faculties returning to him that had been knocked dead and useless when he saw that logo on his chest.  On Derek’s chest!  Derek is Superman!</p><p>“I’m mated to Superman?!  Does that make me Lois Lane, ‘cause that’s really disappointing.  Oh my god, oh my god,” his hands are shaking a little when they get to work on pulling the shirt off those godlike shoulders, and the cape.  The cape!  The cape is tucked into the clothes and how the hell does he hide that and how the hell has he been hiding this and how the hell has Stiles not figured this out already and, “when did this all start?  How do you fly?  Do you fly?  Can I fly?  Is it some super secret werewolf Hale family thing that can only be achieved sometime after full shift or was the pixie,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, eyes going wider if that’s possible, landing on Derek’s eyes, through his glasses, and, “holy Derek, holy all the things, it was the pixie dust wasn’t it?!  It was the pixie dust!  You can fly!  Can I fly with you?!  Can you take me flying?!  Or no, that would make me Lois and I don’t want to be Lois but I want to fly!  Show me!  Show me, show me, show me, show me,” because sometimes he just has to resort to elementary school weapons when Derek Hale is standing that damn still and acting like he’s not hearing a word coming out of Stiles’ mouth and not being at all effected by his mate’s heart rate speeding to unhealthy levels and, “Derek, is it possible for my dick to unzip my zipper and take care of business on it’s own because oh my god, you are porn and every fantasy and everything real and I’m going to, there has to be a knot.  There is a knot and you have been holding out on me on so many levels and this is just the beginning and oh my god!  I don’t know if I can trust you anymore but I want to fuck you so bad and I understand why you didn’t tell me right away since the whole verbal diarrhea thing and I’d probably accidentally let that slip and I get it, I understand it, but I’m your mate Derek, you can tell me,” his fingers skid along the leather belt holding up the dress pants and his eyes flick up to meet Derek’s.  </p><p>Oh god.  They’re all soft-gazed and bright.  And locked onto Stiles’ with all the apologies for not telling him sooner written right across them and his heart beat is so steady and so slow and so relaxed and so Derek.  He’s so hard-shelled and well-worn and sometimes the scent of an old fire that clings to him in his dreams and oh shit, Stiles does know what he smells like in his dreams then, oh no, oh, “Derek do you still dream of, or nightmares, or,” his free hand suddenly appears, sliding up Derek’s torso.  His chiseled from stone torso clad in blue tightness, so much tightness and, oh shit that’s a claw.  </p><p>Stiles jerks his hand back, “sorry.  I should not be in here.  You asked me to leave.”</p><p>But here’s the part of Derek that is confusing as hell, sometimes when he tells Stiles to leave there’s really no bite behind it, it’s more just for show than actually wanting him to leave.  Like he should tell him to leave when he’s changing his clothes because he’s still trying to be a decent human and since the first time they ended up fucking it was because Derek didn’t really understand the whole ‘humans change clothes behind closed doors’ thing or maybe he did it on purpose but wolf rules and human rules are different and sometimes confusing.  And Derek’s been half human, half wolf and all perfect for his entire life and now he’s, “Superman.”</p><p>“Don’t leave,” a Superman who finally speaks.  And his expression is pointing to the truth.  And his heart beating all nice and steady is pointing to the truth.  And of course Derek would have a hero complex at this point, he has the tragic past to back that up.  And of course if Derek had the power to fly he’d use it.  And of course, werewolves are scary and people think they’re monsters even if it’s not true, but put him in a Superman suit and voila: a hero everyone can trust.</p><p>“Can I?” oh, this is new, a Stiles who has lost words.  He has lost words because he can’t peel his eyes off his mate.  Who is spandex/lycra?  Poly?  Cotton?  Oh Hale, Stiles can practically feel it against his face and he’s nowhere near it.  Well, he’s pretty near it.  Like arm’s length away, but he wants it all.  He wants those khakis on the floor.  And the blue sexiness the only thing on that man and holy Hale, that bulge will be, it will be, “oh my god,” so not totally wordless, but mostly incoherent and just going to drop to his knees as soon as Derek nods and get those pants off without ripping them and without tearing anything and that is so hard to control when it would be so easy to just rip them off and be done with it so quickly, but control.  Control is important.  It is muy importante.  It is, “oh my god,” that is too much for one set of wolf eyes, it is so obscene.  But not at all.  It is such a tease and yeah, the pants are at the knees and the mouth is moving forward to breathe on the bulge under the dark blue material and see what happens.  When the damp heat of his mouth filters through the spandex, and yep, that’s what he thought.  Some blood rushes to exactly where it should rush.  And he’s just going to do it again.  </p><p>Derek’s hands are somewhere, they have to be and he wants to feel them on him.  Like now.  Right now.  He’s his anchor, “anchor damn it!”</p><p>There they are.  Sliding through Stiles’ hair.  Thumbs brushing across temples, fingers pressing against the parietal bone to tilt his gaze.  Stiles’ eyes sweep the lines between here (which would be the bulge in front of him that is growing by the second, or the breath) and there (which would be the green hazel eyes that are soft, so soft and loving and trusting).  Oh and between here and there, oh between the two points.  It is blue, and a red and yellow emblem and muscles just bunched and flexed and stretched and everything muscles can be, because he’s just muscles but not so much muscles that he’s just overly muscled, he’s lean but bulky and cut.  He is cut.  That’s what he is.  Cut.  That’s where you’d find Derek Hale’s picture in the dictionary.  </p><p>A shudder rips through Stiles’ body and his traitor of a dick twitches and leaks a little already and it’s so tight in his jeans there’s no space to breathe and those have to go, but he only has two hands and both of those hands right now are not leaving Derek’s spandex clad body until the jaws of life pry them off, “jaws of life Derek.  Is what it will take to pry me off you.”</p><p>A little laugh runs down all that muscle and material and sprinkles over Stiles’ head like a waterfall.  His gaze shifts, travels the expanse of wholesomeness between here and there, landing on Derek’s eyes that are sparkling with amusement and he might be going out on a limb here, but he’s pretty sure lust.  Lust.  Some weird noise comes out of the back of his throat.  It sounds kind of like pain, but he’s not in pain at all, how could he be with Derek looming over him in a Superman suit?</p><p>“You wanna role play?” his eyebrows dance around with the suggestion.</p><p>“I think role playing would mean you have to put the suit on.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s just, um.  No,” it almost sounds like a question and Derek’s face it telling him that he’ll be wearing the suit someday whether for role playing or for dress up he’s not sure, but it’s Stiles they’re talking about so yeah, he won’t be able to help himself.</p><p>His hands are on Derek’s thighs, without really thinking about what they’re doing, they’re rubbing up and down like he’s trying to start a fire.  They tap a few times while he tries to decide his next move.  He wants to take his time getting Derek out of this thing, but he’s pretty sure there’s not enough room in there for a full erection, so he’s going to have to free him soon if he wants this to end with all the sex.  And he does.  He wants this to end with all the sex, “flip a coin or flip fuck?”</p><p>There isn’t a word that parts his lips, but one brow rises in all the nonverbal communication VersaStiles needs to understand that yes, they are going full steam ahead with all the sex.  And that is perfect.  So perfect.  As long as he can last.  Or regenerate, “will I have like a super speedy refractory period now with all the healing?  Not that I really, I mean, I’m kind of a human wonder already, but will it be like ready for seven rounds all the time?  With minimal recovery time?”</p><p>Okay, judging by the hands that clamp down under his armpits and drag him to his feet, Mr Superwolf is not answering anymore questions, he is just going to show him.  By first shoving his tongue down his throat.  Stiles does not moan something stupid around it either.  And just kind of stand there all slack-jawed and open-mouthed for a split second because even if he’s used to it, he’s not always used to just being hauled around like he weighs five pounds and now he can do that to Derek.  He can!  And he will!  When he gets his wits about him.</p><p>“Zipper!  Where’s the zipper?” his hands are scrabbling up and down Derek’s back, and oh yeah, that’s the cape.  Of course the cape is not where the zipper is located, “who made this?  This is a trap, this is an anti-sex suit laced in sex and pheromones and it’s not fair and I’m about to rip,” his meltdown is immediately doused by the sound of a zipper.  Unzipping.  His heart beats back down a tick and his shirt gets tugged up over his head before lips are warm and stinging against his with stubble, “isn’t Superman clean shaved all the time?”</p><p>Who cares?  Who cares Stiles?  No one does.  No one does when the lips are on the lips and the hands are on the hips and the pelvises are grinding together, “oh god Derek, you first.  You go first.  I want to get my brains banged out by Superwolf.  Then I’ll do you.  But one thing,” his hand slides down to cover Derek’s heart, even if he can hear it now, he still wants to feel it.  It’s his rhythm, the calm of it, and the feel of the lycra spandex poly cotton whatever it is, holy Hale that is distracting.  Seeing his own hand splayed on that suit.  That is, that is just, it is, “wow.  You’re going to have to tell me how many lives you’ve saved in this suit.  And you’re going to have to, wait, no, you won’t because you aren’t the type to take credit for that kind of thing, but I have access Derek!  I have all the access to all the files in the Sheriff’s station.  And I will know.  I will know without you having to tell me, mostly, well, some of it anyway, it’s not like all the accidents would even be reported or any of that, but I’m sure there are plenty of people who have seen you flying around in the air around Beacon Hills and they know!  And that was you!  That was you!  You went viral!  Oh shit, Derek, you are,” interrupted by lips.  Sealing all the words back into Stiles’ mouth and he knows why, once again, Derek didn’t tell him right away because if he knew it was his mate that was doing all the good deeds, then he’d be screaming it to the hills and back because that’s just how he is.  He’s proud, okay?   He’s allowed to be proud of his mate.  But he’ll have to be quietly proud now.  </p><p>And now his hands are sliding up Stiles’ back and pulling him even closer, like it’s a possibility at this point to fuse together and be one super being who flies around in the suit together saving people’s lives.  That’d be, that would just be dandy.  </p><p>“Do you have a spare suit that we can just cut a front door and back door into and we can just use it for all the sex?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“But you will someday.”</p><p>He snorts a response that Stiles cuts off with a kiss.  Because two can play that damn game.  So, ha!  So his ears heard the suit unzip, but why is it still on him?  Hands meets shoulders, strong shoulders.  Fingers, without claws, slipping under the neckline, sliding over deltoids on either side, taking a moment to let the tingles rise from his fingers and through his hands, sliding up his arms straight to his, yep his dick.  But he’s going to savor this, take this undressing thing slow and he’s going to kiss and lick and nibble and suck every single part of his skin as it becomes exposed because he’s a wolf now too and they can gnaw on each other’s necks all night until they’re all slobbered up and sensitive and it’ll heal so fast it’ll be like it never happened at all.  Which is kind of depressing, unless it’s a challenge.  It’s a challenge!  To see how many places he can mark up before they heal and why didn’t he think of this years ago?  Well, because he has no patience.  That’s why.  It’s impossible to have patience when the platter he’s nibbling off is Derek Hale!  </p><p>Patience now young grasshopper.  Because he’s a wolf now and he can do that.  He can zen all he wants, he’s going to have to if he’s going to learn control between now and the full moon and his face is buried in Derek’s chest, suspiciously close to his armpit and oh god, it is so much manliness.  </p><p>The arms are free from the fabric.  Stiles leans back to watch himself slide it down his chest and abdomen and all the things holy, he is salivating.  That is, wow, that is a lot of saliva over the reveal of his mate’s pecs.  And abs.  And his nose is just going to pull him right into that little sheen of sweat that he’s certain is going to become drops of sweat in the next few minutes and he’ll be able to chase each drop right down the dents and divots of his body.  He can lick Derek clean now after he gets out of the creek, he can chase the droplets down his body and not be a weirdo.  Because he’s a wolf.  So licking, is just a thing.  It is, “oh my god, why do you taste so good?”</p><p>There are still no claws.  This is good.  This is so good.  The suit is pulled down to waist, bunched at the hips.  It’s porn, “you are walking porn Hale.”</p><p>But his face is so soft, and so welcoming, and it feels so much like home that Stiles knows he’s only walking porn for Stiles’ collection.  Or flying porn.  Holy Hale, he can fly, “I wanna fly.”</p><p>Derek hums something, his hands working through Stiles’ hair, eyes closing lazily.   </p><p>“I’m going to track down a pixie.  I’m going to track down an entire cluster of pixies and make them dust me.  I’m going to be wearing glasses and flying too.  But I wanna be, wait, Derek, you’re not supposed to wear a mask when you’re Superman, but you wear a mask ‘cause you don’t want anyone to know who you are, why didn’t you just do Batman?  Or, no, well, you’d make a good Batman too, but you’re definitely a Superman type.  Mostly, wait…”</p><p>The hands are tightening at Stiles’ temples, and starting to kind of steer him, like it’s just a hint that he should carry on with all the sex and shut the hell up and they’ll discuss all the nuances of being Superman later, but, “what about your eyesight?  Do you have corrective lenses set in your mask?  Oh my god Derek!  Who built your suit?  Why didn’t you ask me to build your suit?  You could have trusted me, I swear you could have trusted me!  You, I…”</p><p>“Stiles,” instead of an annoyed rumble that he’s expecting at this point, it’s gentle.  Demanding softly that his eyes rise, scanning over all that bare, glossed with sweat, skin between here and there, and right, look, eye contact, that’s what he wants.  Oh Hale.  The glasses and the eyes, and the smile, and the way he looks at Stiles like he just adores every single stupid thing that comes out of his mouth.</p><p>“Derek.”</p><p>“I do trust you,” his finger hooks under Stile’s chin, giving a little drag to draw him to his feet.  </p><p>Well, he’s already lost the attention of the the super sidekick in his pants, or maybe all the spandex did that for him, took the wind right of of his sails, “jet fuel Derek.  How high can you fly?  Is this something that’ll wear off?  Is that why you didn’t tell me?  ‘Cause it’s been, like, months, six months since the pixie dust, right?  And I’ve seen the Beacon Hills Superman videos for like at least four months, but it’s not like you were out there every single day, right?  I’d know.  I would.  I would know.  I notice things, and now that I’m thinking about it, damn it!  Derek!  You could have told me!  You should have told me!  I don’t know if I’m more mad at myself for making you think you couldn’t trust me with this or if I’m more mad at you for not trusting me.  You know me!  I’d never…  well, I never tell the big secrets anyway.  I totally could have been overexcited and ridiculously obnoxious about this in private.  I could have.”</p><p>They’re face to face now.  Body to body.  Derek’s hand running soothingly from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, down his spine, resting on the small of his back.  It’s not fair that Derek knows all the physical soothing things that Stiles has yet to learn.  </p><p>“It’s not because I don’t trust you Stiles.”</p><p>“Said everyone ever who kept a secret from their mate.”</p><p>Okay, and that flashes some pain across Derek’s beautiful irises and his jaw clenches, his heart stutters and he takes a deep breath, “I was going to tell you.  And I was going to show you.  But I,” heavy sigh, so far everything has stayed steady, stayed honest, but the words are always the hardest part for Derek, “I don’t know.  It’s like all my life I’ve spent being a monster…”</p><p>“You’re not a monster.”</p><p>“Says you.  And says the pack.  But the rest of the world, when they see me,” his face is starting to screw up and his breath is starting to falter.  Fuck Kate.  Fuck her and all the lies she fed Derek and all the things that he still carries around with him because of her and because of her family (most of her family, anyway).  Stiles’ hands grab the handles of Derek’s hips and hold tight, “and this, realizing that I suddenly had these abilities that I didn’t need to be in monster form for, and I could help people without scaring them.  It just,” he trails off and his eyes dart away from Stiles’, like they do when he’s talking about things he doesn’t want to emote over but he can’t help it.  And this is where Stiles should stay quiet, and wait.  Let Derek find his own words.  </p><p>But what the hell?  Stiles has spoke ‘Derek’ for years now, so why make him form words when he doesn’t want to, “it became something you didn’t expect it to.  And then you didn’t know how to tell me because it felt like you were keeping a secret or a lie from the most important person in your life, and you’d already had enough secrets and lies in your life, that even this small one seems like something that would have been enough to send me running for the hills, proverbial hills since this is the hills, Beacon Hills to be exact.  Derek, I just,” now it’s his turn to trail off, but only for a moment because Stiles is smooth like that, “I wish that you could trust me and trust your instincts.  I’m your mate.  Your mate,” jabbing a finger right into his sternum, “yours.  No one else’s.  And that pretty much means that I’ll love you no matter what.  Unless you pick up a side habit of serial killer, or cannibal, or rapist, or maimer, or um, really any kind of brutal crimes.  You could rob banks and I’d still love you, well, technically you could do the brutal things too and I’d still love you I just couldn’t be with you anymore and I’d probably really have to hate myself a lot for being with someone who maimed people for kicks or you know, stuff that,” being with Kate Argent made you feel, fuck, “even if it wasn’t my fault for loving someone who turned out to be psycho, just so you know, I mean, can you please kiss me now so I stop talking?  I’m just gonna keep digging this hole deeper and deeper if someone doesn’t shut me up.  Now.  Like right now.”</p><p>His face keeps twisting somewhere between amused and pained and wondering how the hell he ended up mated to one Stiles Stilinski.  So, pretty much the normal things that are always twisting up Derek’s features.  But he settles on obliging, because that’s what mates are for.  Mates are cool like that.  Cool with all the lips on lips and so soft and gentle.  </p><p>Suddenly all the ideas he was having earlier of unbridled passion and lust are turning to something ridiculous and soft, and lavishing comfort, and, “candles, bubble baths, is there some kind of wolfy champagne?  So we could get bubbly with the bubbly, mate,” his eyebrows are wiggling at ridiculous rates when he pulls away from Derek’s lips, but just barely, still close enough to breathe all over him, and keep his chest to chest all bare skin and sweat and heat, “are we ever going to get human married?  Is that like a someday thing?  Can it be in the five year plan?  ‘Cause I know being your wolfy mate is more important.  Is important the right word?  Than being your human husband is, but I kinda want both.  Not kinda.  Really.  I really want both.  Wait, I’m the human, I’m supposed to ask.  Like for real ask you, aren’t I?  You were waiting for me to ask you?!  You were,” he can’t deny it by the beautiful shades of pink that he’s turning.  </p><p>“Can you even feel that?”</p><p>“What?  Our half-mast boners rubbing against each other through the layers of jeans and spandex and cotton and poly and…”</p><p>“Your ears.”</p><p>“What about them?”</p><p>“When you wiggle your eyebrows like that your ears shift.”</p><p>“No!  Lies!  Deceit!  Treacher…” his hand rises and sure enough lands on a wolf ear, “why would I notice that when I have all of this in front of me?” To make sure Derek knows exactly what he’s talking about, he gives him a full-body grind, “all of this,” and slides a hand over his ass that is still covered in clothing!  Why are there clothes?!!  Why? “Clothes are a terrible idea Derek.  A terrible,” it’s getting muffled and mumbled as his nose is sliding back into his mate’s neck, “terrible,” across his collarbone and baring his teeth to rub them along that delicate flesh over his pulse point, pausing at that luscious sternocleidomastoid, “this is my favorite place in the whole wide world Superwolf.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?  To Superwolf?  Or to my favorite place?  Can you do me a favor?  Don’t ever,” leaning out of his comfort just long enough to nudge at his chin and force eye contact, well not really force, kind of beg for?  No, there’s no begging, asking politely without words, “don’t ever call it your monster form again.  Ever.  Like ever.  Because you are wolf Derek.  A beautiful, perfect wolf.  Nothing about you is monstrous.  Except for the monstrous boner you give me every time you’re close to me.  That’s pretty monstrous.  Actually.  In all the right ways,” his eyebrows wiggle and he feels his ears pop, well, Derek was right then.  </p><p>Interesting.  Very, very interesting.  </p><p>And Derek is not answering.  His face is so suddenly concentrated.  Head cocked to gather sound first into his left ear, then into his right.  And every time he ever sees Derek do that, he just wants to scratch his neck and wonder, ‘what is it Lassie?’ but he doesn’t.  He totally doesn’t.  Ever.  Because he’s not a dog!  Derek is not a dog!  Neither is Stiles!  Wolves is what they are.  Both of them.  Holy shit!  Stiles is a wolf!  </p><p>Wait.  What’s Derek doing?  He’s prying his entire body out of Stiles’ grip and tugging the suit back on and running out of the bedroom?  He’s running out of the bedroom.  What did he hear?  Stiles was listening too.  Wasn’t he?  He was.  He would have heard if someone howled.  He totally would have heard that.  </p><p>Kicking super speed into full speed ahead, and oh shit, oh, oh shit, those are stairs.  Damn it!  Tumbling down the stairs ass over teakettle is not a wolf move at all.  Damn it.  Ouch.  But hey, the bright side is that it heals quick.  Okay, seriously, isn’t the wolf grace supposed to happen with the bite?  Isn’t that just part of the gift of the bite?  </p><p>By the time he picks himself up, brushes himself off, and limps over to the wall of windows overlooking their yard (their yard, yes, as in his and Derek’s together), super deep inhale, “oh.  My.  Hale.  Super.  SuperHale.  Holy shit.”</p><p>He’s fully caped and masked and he’s taking a few running strides that are long and graceful and gorgeous and then he’s shoving off the ground like he’s about to jump into a long-jump pit, but instead of leaping forward he just goes up.  Up!  He goes up!  And stays up!  </p><p>“Holy Hale,” that is, just, Stiles walks into the glass of the door, squishing his nose against it and he’s going to have to wash that face print off before Derek gets home because he would be embarrassed to have the clumsiest wolf of all the wolves in all the land as a mate. </p><p>Oh, and oh, Derek can still hear him if he shouts something!  </p><p>He slams the door open and jerks himself out onto the porch, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound of course, “go get ‘em Superwolf!”  </p><p>And then a howl exits his lips.  Oops, that could have, um, probably been stifled.  Oh shit, he just howled and now the pack will probably be showing up here and then when Derek flies back in he’ll either be exposed to all or he’ll have to land somewhere in the woods and get stripped down and oh shit, shit.  Well, maybe he has time to get some clothes out on the line across the creek where Derek usually hangs some clothes for those inconvenient full-shift moments when he shifts back and he’s stark naked.  Though it’s not at all inconvenient for Stiles, it’s in fact quite enjoyable.  Wait, too enjoyable if he’s being honest, way too enjoyable if he’s got the pack probably on the way here and he’s still shirtless himself, well, he forgot about that little detail.  But he can use super speed now instead of just human speed!  </p><p>Oh, he’s so got this under control.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ditch The Glasses Clark Kent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(There's no actual cheating, it's just bad humor)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ditch The Glasses Clark Kent</p><p> </p><p>It’s just lingering around him, Stiles doesn’t even need to be near him to smell it now.  It’s just, it’s fur and skin and there’s a sharp urine smell, a little bit of blood that was probably a healed scrape by the time he landed in the woods and got dressed and started stalking across the yard like he was just late for a pack meeting or something that he probably realized was happening as soon as he heard that un-stifled howl.  So, oops, and all that, but at least Stiles ordered some pizza to keep them busy and he’s not lying to them about that howl happening on accident, he just is lying that he feels like he’s in crisis mode over the wolfy-ness and he needs his pack around to keep him sane or something.  Pack falls for pack feels every single time.  So they’re playing games and eating pizza and just having a pack night.  On accident.  But he’s not going to tell them that Derek is Superman!  He’s not!</p><p>He’s not really sure how he’s going to cover for his absence when he comes back, not in his office attire, but in a t-shirt and jeans like normal and smelling like fresh air and jet fuel and clouds and dirt and atmosphere, and, “pussy!  It’s pussy!  You smell like pussy!” </p><p>It’s just unfortunate that these things always hit him when there are witnesses.  Said witnesses are scuffing their feet and staring at the floor.  Some of them are trying not to laugh, the ones that can also smell the pussy, but Dad is the first one to clear his throat to remind Stiles that there are, in fact, witnesses.</p><p>“It smells wretched Derek!  It smells like, are my hackles rising?  My hackles are rising!  You cheated on me!  A pussy Derek!”</p><p>Derek’s eyebrows are looking very menacing and his mouth opens, but Dad’s hand lands all dad-like on his shoulder with an interruption and announcement to the room in general, “we’ll just make our way outside and leave you two…”</p><p>He can feel the tips of his ears heating up and the shift cannot happen right now.  Well, it could, no one would be surprised, it isn’t like he’s standing in the super market and attempting to stay human-formed and everything, but it’s just not something he wants to do at this moment, he doesn’t want to shift.  It would probably set his dad on edge and ever since the bite, he can feel his dad’s emotions aimed at him in way too intense of a way to ignore them now when before he just measured his dad’s emotions through those looks.  The looks that parents give their children, the looks that put Stiles in his place sometimes and made him defiant sometimes and made him well aware of how disappointed in him his father truly was, or proud, sometimes there was pride.  But now Stiles can feel his father’s worry for him when it rises and it’s hard to ignore.  Right now, he’s practically vibrating with it.</p><p>The pack is already filtering out the door.  Scott looks like a kicked puppy, Isaac is smirking, Boyd is all business as usual, and Erica has the audacity to wink at him!  Wink!  </p><p>Oh, there goes Dad.  Following behind Allison and Lydia.  He’s leaving with a raised brow that clearly communicates, ‘we are right outside if you need us.  Don’t kill each other’.  At least he doesn’t bring any firearms to pack meetings anymore.</p><p>“I am deeply concerned with your putrid odor right now Derek,” it is taking so much focus to keep his claws in.  The smell of pussy is making him wild eyed and he wants to leap.  He wants to give chase.  He wants to nip and snarl and chase it up a tree.</p><p>“And now your dad thinks I just slept with a woman.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You didn’t exactly clarify whether you were speaking of Felis Catus,” oh Peter is here.  Isn’t that wonderful?  His arms crossed over his chest, eyeing them both like he’s not certain if he’ll have to break up a fight or even if he would if one broke out, “or a female sexual partner.”</p><p>“It was him!” Stiles’ arm flails out, hopefully eventually pointing at Peter or some kind of gesture that makes it clear he’s speaking of Peter when his eyes dart over to Derek’s face, “it was him who made the suit!  Wait, he knew, and he planned it, didn’t he?  But it’s not like he could build it, or sew it, or, you probably do know how to sew you weird old man, don’t you?  Who made the mask with the corrective lenses in it?  Sewing maybe by gas-lamp lighting in a series of tunnels underground,” he points a glare at Peter, “that, I could believe.  But the lenses in the mask.  The mask?  Oh Hale, please tell me the mask is made of some kind of bullet proof material.  I know you can take a bullet or two or twenty to the midsection and stay skyward but what about the head?  Are you protecting your head when you’re flying around saving the day?”</p><p>So the fact that Derek’s hand is warm on Stiles’ arm and he can feel it, is a good sign.  It’s a good anchor anchoring him right now.</p><p>“It is Peter, right?  He at least knew?  I didn’t already out your little secret, your big secret, your awesome secret, right?”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Okay.  Cool,” he rocks back on his heels, and shoves his hands in his pockets.  And hears his jeans rip.  Just a little, just probably the lining of his pocket.  ‘Cause his claws are out.  Just a little.  </p><p>“Take a breath,” his eyes are more green than anything with the backdrop of the yard and the sunshine of the evening filtering through the leaves.  Those glasses, it’s not like they impede the view of those multi-colored orbs, they’re just there.  Between them.  </p><p>“Yep.  Breathing.  Definitely doing that,” and moving.  He is moving.   He registers that Derek’s brows are up, but there’s something he has to make clear as crystals as soon as possible, yanking the door open to announce, “I was talking about Felis Catus. I was not talking about female sex partners.  Just so you all know.  Felis Catus, you know, the hiss hiss kind,” he does cat claws in the air in front of his chest just to prove his point and look at that, still claws out.  </p><p>A big hand clamps down on his arm and hauls him back inside, “I think they get it.”</p><p>“Probably,” spinning to face Derek, “but I still don’t.  Why do you smell like pussy?  I thought, okay now I know why no one likes cats, my god that smell is just, it just makes all my instincts kick into high gear.  How did you even get close enough,” leaning in to give a good whiff around his neck area, “to smell that strongly of it?  And pee?  Did you get…”</p><p>Derek’s turn to blush a little, just a little around the edges, “there was a cat stuck in a tree.  I thought I’d save the fire department the hassle.”</p><p>Stiles claps his hands and rubs them together, feeling his brows wiggling and his ears popping out.  Oops, “you, big bad werewolfy Superman climbed a tree to save a cat?  And said cat sniffed out your cat-chasing instincts and, let me guess, scratched and clawed and hissed and then pissed on you out of fear when you did not take her warnings seriously.”</p><p>“I just wanted to help.  And the cat’s owner was like seven years old.  And…”</p><p>“Had serious heart-eyes for the suit?”</p><p>He’d be scuffing a toe across the floor if he had any visible signs of shame right now, but he’s having a very hard time making eye contact when he shrugs.</p><p>Stiles wants to laugh, but he is not going to.  He is not.  He is so not going to laugh.  HIs hand rises and reaches out, claps him on the shoulder, “so here I thought you were out saving a busload of innocent civilians from a bridge collapsing into a raging river or something, and you were out climbing a tree to rescue a pussy?”</p><p>“No, not entirely…”</p><p>“Aw, it’s okay big guy, even Superman does small community good deeds from time to time,” he can feel a shit-eating grin rising on his face, but he is not going to laugh.  He’s not.  </p><p>“I don’t believe Superman ever got peed on by a feline,” Peter interjects.  </p><p>And that’s enough for Derek.  He’s just going to head off now.  Hopefully to the shower.  Because that odor, it is just offensive.   </p><p>———————</p><p>“Ditch the glasses Clark Kent,” Stiles announces as he shoves the bedroom door open, shimmying out of his clothes, “I’m comin’ for you,” when he can reach the foot of the bed, he yanks the sheets up like the old parachute game in elementary gym class, starts climbing his way up Derek’s body as the light covering floats back down through the air like an empty ghost, landing very not smoothly over top of Derek’s head and chest and now it’s a filled ghost, and the whole idea of doing a sexy kiss trail up his body while the sheets landed all artistically around them is shot.  But whatever, he’ll leave a sloppy, groaning, maybe he’s growling?  Kiss trail up his legs.  </p><p>“If that’s okay,” mumbling between all the other noises tumbling out of his lips.</p><p>“Mmm hmm,” he’s shuffling with the sheet, Stiles can hear his glasses being snapped shut and set on the side table.  </p><p>“I’m gonna suck Superman’s dick.”</p><p>The chuckle rumbles down his body, way warmer than the sheet that’s been discarded.  </p><p>“Leave the light on, ‘cause I want porn for my eyes and my ears and my dick,” like they’ve ever been the type to screw with the lights off.  The darkest of dark sexy times are the ones that occurred out in the glow of the moon and stars, which, it’s all romantic and everything but it’s just never that comfortable.  Always a rock or some wet grass or the smell of dirt, or, “can we sex it up outside soon so my wolf can experience all that in nature?”</p><p>“Mm hmm,” his body is settling on the mattress, the yellow hues of the night light clinging to every dip and curve of him.  </p><p>Stiles stops in his travels at the bony flat of his kneecap, resting his chin there for a moment to assault his eyes with everything laid out in front of him, “did I make it abundantly clear yet that I’m super proud of you?  Like, always.  Not just because of the Superman thing.  But always.”</p><p>When he doesn’t respond right away Stiles taps on his kneecap.  He can hear that now.  Like really hear it, echoing through his leg.  It’s weird.  Kind of cringe-worthy.  But it gets his full attention.  </p><p>“Yep,” he finally responds.  </p><p>It’s not very convincing.  Damn it Derek.  Superhuman speed to get chest to chest level and stare directly into his eyes.  Basically just laying right on top of him, “I’m proud of you.”</p><p>“I heard you.”</p><p>“Just checking.  And you know it’s not a lie because you can hear it if it’s a lie.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he looks kind of tired.  He smells, well that awful feline odor is gone, he smells like Derek.  All showered and not shaved.  All manly and wolfy and fantastic.  So fantastic that Stiles’ nose is right up in his jawline again.  </p><p>“I love it.  I love it so much.”</p><p>“It?”</p><p>“You.  You so much.  Just all of this.”</p><p>“I love you too,” he admits quietly, tilting his neck to give it to Stiles on a platter.</p><p>“You know what though?” jerking his head back, getting eye to eye again, bringing his legs up to straddle Derek’s hips.  Hips that are still clad in underwear, why are those here?  Fingers hooking through the waistband, “I hate losing control.  You know it’s, like,” his breath catches without any warning, but it’s not like anxiety ever really has that many warnings, not really, some if he’s truly paying attention to them, but talking is good.  And talking about worries that are looming on the horizon are important, “of myself, I hate losing control of myself.”</p><p>“I know,” his hips lift to let Stiles drag the offending article of clothing down to his thighs.  Hands sliding from his ears back, through his hair, tilting his head just a little, “you won’t lose control.  You are mentally stronger than anyone I know.”</p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p>His eyebrows rise, clearly reading, ‘you always ask me a million things and only give me time to answer one or two’, “why are you even asking that?”</p><p>“Uh, I’m being polite.”</p><p>A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “a little late for that.”</p><p>Stiles should probably be offended, or at least act offended, but really Derek is right, “okay, well all that stuff aside,” those damn boxer-briefs are down to his knees now, he can kick them off from there.  Stiles settles his butt back down in Derek’s lap, “anger was your anchor for a long time.  When, um, when did that change?  And why?”</p><p>He shrugs, eyes soft, his head tilted in that ‘I’m listening really hard to everything internal and external right now’ way, “it’s not good to be angry all the time.”</p><p>“You don’t say,” he pokes his nose for good measure.  </p><p>An eye roll, “I was angry…”</p><p>“With good reason.”</p><p>“Yeah.  And it just was the easiest thing to always grasp when I needed something to hold onto.  But,” he sighs, his head relaxing back to rest against the headboard.</p><p>“Then I showed up with all my ninja skills to break down all your anger and…”</p><p>“You weren’t afraid of me.”</p><p>“Not for long.”</p><p>“And you didn’t think I was a monster.  Or disgusting or…”</p><p>“‘Cause you’re not,” oh, Stiles is sure that he has heart eyes happening right now, staring at Derek’s beautiful eyes in the dim lights of their bedroom, with the clear night’s sky watching them through the moonroof.  </p><p>“And you were just always there.”</p><p>“Ninja skills.”</p><p>“Something like that,” oh Hale, he smiles.  And it sends Stiles’ heart into these wild hiccups that happen every time he smiles.  Every time.  Even now that they happen abundantly they’re still this wonderful perfect surprise that makes Stiles turn all butterflies all over.  </p><p>“Alright Superman, enough of the mushy stuff, let’s get to all the sex,” he mostly just dives into Derek’s mouth before he can respond.  And he so does not clack their teeth together and mumble a few muffled curse words under his breath as Derek’s hands gently steer his head to the proper angle.  </p><p>——————</p><p>“Oh.  My.  Hale.  I have no lactic acid build up.  I have no muscles that are sore.  I have no tiredness at all,” even if the bed is insanely comfortable all of a sudden.  Derek wiping them both off with a dirty t-shirt, “I’m so ready for more sex.  All the sex,” even if the pillow is so soft, “we could totally just have marathon sex sessions all the time and never get tired,” Derek’s chest against his back is warm, “we could do nothing but have sex all the time, forget jobs, who needs those?” his arm is heavy, a seatbelt around Stiles’ hips, fingers spayed against his pelvic bone, “we could make a ton of money by just doing,” a giant yawn, “all the sex online.  All the time.  Like a twenty-four seven streaming thing,” breath on his neck, lips against salty skin, “never sleep.  I will never sleep,” other arm snaking under the pillow, hand tucked against the headboard, “never, I will, just, it’ll be a nap.  A very, very short nap.  Of course, it’ll have to be all the sex between all the rescue missions since my matey is Superman,” a giant yawn, it’s just so good.  It’s too good.  And comfortable, “just a nap.”</p><p>It was totally just a nap.  Even if Stiles wakes up alone in the midmorning sun streaming through the windows and the smell of coffee wafting up from downstairs even though he knows Derek is long gone for work by now.  Bastard.  Well, Stiles should probably keep his day job then too.  Or whatever he’s doing between semesters at the Sheriff’s station.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Runway Werewolf Walk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know if it requires a warning or not, but WARNING: there's talk of eating rabbits and non-graphic vomiting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Runway Werewolf Walk</p><p> </p><p>So while Derek was off saving the world, or Beacon Hills, or the surrounding metropolis; Stiles ate a rabbit.  A rabbit!  A real, live, breathing, moving, hopping, adorable fuzzy, “rabbit, Derek!” he coughs and a gob of fur, downy soft fur, escapes from this throat, “oh.  My.  God.  Derek.  A rabbit!  I hunted down a rabbit and I ate it!  Am I feral?!  Am I going blood lusty and crazy?!  </p><p>“Stiles,” he even tilts his glasses down to the end of his nose so there’s pure unadulterated eyes right in Stiles’ face as his hands land on his shoulders, “you are not feral.  You are not going crazy.  You can take a breath now.  And focus.”</p><p>“It’s too hard to focus when there’s still the taste of blood in my mouth.”</p><p>His eyes roll, grip releases and he jerks his head towards the bathroom, “brush your teeth.”</p><p>“Come with me.”</p><p>“Come with,” it’s all incredulous, “I’m not, just,” his glasses get shoved back up his nose and Stiles flips his eyelashes at him, making his best begging face, “fine,” his eyebrows are very put-off by this.  </p><p>“Is my stomach going to explode?  Should I shift so I can process that gluttonous session in my werewolf intestines instead of my human ones?  Or is there just like some whole body shift of intestinal fortitude that happens with the bite?  Why are there so many questions I never answered before all this, I’m the research guy!”</p><p>“And your particular style of research is probably going to involve looking long and deep into the toilet bowl,” Derek is steering him now, towards the bathroom.</p><p>“That is,” his stomach is a little queasy, “okay, that is just fine.  I can, yep, totally,” his pace is quickened whether it’s of his own volition or Derek’s urging, he’s not sure.</p><p>————————</p><p>“So, no intestinal fortitude post-bite awesomeness, then?” Stiles groans into the toilet.  Three hours or three days or maybe three months after Derek steered him there.</p><p>“Nope,” his hand hasn’t stop rubbing small circles on Stiles’ back since it all started.  And Stiles is pretty sure it’s the only thing keeping him inside his skin right now.  </p><p>“Can you stay home from work tomorrow?” it sounds so pathetic Stiles actually wants to kick his own ass for being so needy.</p><p>“It’s Saturday tomorrow, so yeah, think I can manage that.”</p><p>“Well you don’t have to be all snarky about it, asshole.”</p><p>“What would we have if we didn’t have snark?”</p><p>“Incredible sex.”</p><p>“Bad puns.”</p><p>“Great food.”</p><p>“Bad movies.”</p><p>“Amazing weekends.  The ones that are actually sans creatures straight out of fantasy and sci-fi and supernatural books for teens.  Did you say bad movies?  Because I’ll have you know that I have great taste in movies.  It’s not my fault that our recommendation list on Netflix is full of weird shit.  It’s your fault for giving our log-in to all the members of the pack so they could freeload off us instead of paying for their own subscription.  And everyone refuses to just make their own profile so now the recommendations are so fucked up that, I actually think Isaac is putting weird shit on there just to mess with us.  That jerk.”</p><p>“Total jerk,” it’s muffled through a yawn.</p><p>“Oh I’m sorry, am I keeping you awake with my intestinal distress over going feral and eating a rabbit?”</p><p>His sigh is heavy enough to carry the entire world on his shoulders, “no dear.”</p><p>“No deer, I’m not that skilled a hunter yet.”</p><p>He snickers, rubs a long circle with his hand, lips making contact with the back of Stiles’ neck and then he stands.  And oh Hale, it’s so lonely on the bathroom floor when he’s gone, “where the hell are you going?”</p><p>“I didn’t put the clean sheets on the bed yet.  Plus, I’m pretty sure you got it all out, so I think you’re okay to brush your teeth, take a shower and…”</p><p>“A shower?  Alone?  You expect me to take a solo shower at this stage in our lives together when I’m going to need an anchor for my every move from now until the full moon and to infinity and beyond?”</p><p>“Just brush your damn teeth and by the time the water is running warm, I’ll be back,” he’s halfway down the hall by now.  </p><p>“Just brush your damn teeth,” Stiles mocks to the only thing in here that’s still listening to him.  Which would be the toilet.</p><p>“I can hear you!”</p><p>“I know.  I totally know that.  Because I can hear you too Superwolf.  Oh.  My.  Hale.  Can I hear people farting from like a mile away now?  Can you hear me when…  Oh.  My.”</p><p>“Stiles.  You only hear what you want to hear.”</p><p>“So no practicing hearing when someone is in the bathroom.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“I’m in the bathroom Derek!”</p><p>“I’m not practicing.  I already know that you…”</p><p>“Stop!  Just stop there.  Let’s pretend that we never had this conversation.  And let’s pretend that you didn’t hear me jerking off in the shower the other morning.”</p><p>Derek snickers.</p><p>“That’s not pretending!”</p><p>“Jerking off is a very important part of knowing your body.  It is no indicator of whether or not you have a satisfying sex life.  It’s important…”</p><p>“To know that I can beat my meat without turning all claws and grrrs and rip my own dick off.”</p><p>“Exactly that,” his footsteps are already starting back down the hall and Stiles hasn’t even begun to brush his teeth yet.</p><p>He hops off the tiles quickly and turns on the faucet, channeling just a bit of superhuman speed to get the toothpaste on the brush and get his mouth good and foamed up, and he totally doesn’t moan around it since that’d be weird, but the taste of toothpaste is so much better than raw rabbit and vomit.  So, yeah, he totally moans around it and he’s pretty sure that’s a good sign that he’s going to be okay and that was a one time giving into new instincts thing that he can control now because he didn’t like it.  He didn’t like it one bit.  </p><p>Watching Derek in the mirror, Derek bending over to turn the faucet in the tub.  Derek taking off his clothes.  And Derek.  Just so much Derek.  </p><p>“Is it different for born wolves?”</p><p>His face turns, taking his glasses off to set them beside the sink, eyebrows are neutral, “pretty much everything is.  Puberty is kind of a shitshow though.”</p><p>Stiles strips off his clothes, leaving them all haphazard around the bathroom where he stepped out of them.  While Derek’s are all folded and set neatly on the counter.  He folds his dirty clothes.  Derek folds his dirty clothes, “you ever eat a rabbit?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Did you digest it?”</p><p>“Yep.  It was pretty bad on the other end too.”</p><p>“Bones and fur balls and all?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Following Derek into the shower, arms wrapping around him immediately, leaning his face between his shoulder-blades, “I bet little baby Hale pups were so cute.”</p><p>“No cuter than…”</p><p>“Shh.  Let me imagine family days in the woods.  Puppy piles and everything.”</p><p>“Well it’s not like we all…”</p><p>“Shh,” rubbing his cheek against Derek’s flesh as the water starts to dampen the skin between them.  It’s not like there are family photos to show them Derek’s childhood.  So Stiles has to use his imagination.  His hands are slowly trailing up and down his own personal washboard, while Derek just goes about this whole showering business, business as usual.  When he moves away like he’s going to peel Stiles off his back, he only tightens his grip.</p><p>“Just turning around,” he makes it sound like Stiles is not being needy and ridiculous, “so I can soap you up.”</p><p>“But as a wolf…”</p><p>“You still need to have human hygiene.”</p><p>“But as a wolf, I can’t get sick.  So…”</p><p>“I have a sensitive nose.”</p><p>“And clearly don’t have sensitive eyes anymore,” allowing Derek to turn, watching him squint towards the shampoo bottle to double check that he grabbed the proper bottle.   </p><p>His vision might not be super powerful anymore, but his glare sure is.  It totally doesn’t effect Stiles in any kind of wolf way though.  It doesn’t!  </p><p>Neither does the way Derek’s hands are sliding over his skin, fingers scraping against his scalp, sliding sandpaper callouses across the skin behind his ears.  Oh, and Stiles absolutely does not tilt his head and offer his ear for the scratching to intensify.  Because he is not a dog.  </p><p>When Derek uses his big hands to tilt Stiles’ head back into the spray of the shower, he might just show off his neck a little bit.  Just a tad bit.  Only to get that mouth, that hot mouth, right there against him, right away.  Derek never bothers sucking hickeys into his skin, but he loves a good lips against neck session.  Lips, some tongue, a little bit of teeth running all sharp and promising against Stiles’ collarbone.  Sending tingles careening around down every nerve ending and all the blood in his body hurdling towards his dick.  </p><p>And all too soon, he’s just gone.  He’s stepping out of the shower, leaving Stiles in it all alone with a raging hard, “dick!”</p><p>“I’ll be in the bedroom,” with his bedroom voice and it is so not fair.  So not fair.  How one person can be so stupidly sexy.</p><p>Stiles groans towards the space that Derek just vacated, “it’d be a lot easier to just jerk each other off in the shower.”</p><p>“Who said anything about jerking each other off?”</p><p>“Who said… oh, oh you mean, yes!  Yes, I am right there in just five quick,” turning off the water and totally not slipping on his way out of the tub, catching himself with the towel rack and absolutely not ripping it clear off the wall, “seconds,” shouting over the sound of drywall crumbling behind the fasteners, “five quick seconds!”</p><p>“Did you just…”</p><p>“No!  Nothing to see in here!  Nothing at all.  Just drying off is all.  Just drying off and joining you in the bedroom where we will have all the sex and then I will clean us up.  It is my turn to clean us up.  And then we can take a cat nap.  Or a dog nap.  Or a wolf nap.  Or just nap.”</p><p>“Stiles?”</p><p>“Derek?”</p><p>“You know it’s a lot easier to admit it right away when an accident happens.”</p><p>“Yep.  For sure, just um,” fumbling with wrapping the towel around his waste, “oh screw it,” tossing it at the rack that’s lying on the floor in the pile of his dirty clothes anyway, “I just broke the towel rack and I’ll definitely fix it later, but I have more pressing matters to attend to right now.  Like your dick.  And my dick.  And my ass.  Or your ass.  Who’s doing whom tonight dear Derek?” he slides out on the hardwood floor of the hallway, this time grasping for the doorframe and not breaking anything at all.  Skittering across the floor with some water still dripping off his surface that he was in too much of a hurry to wipe completely off.  Coming to a skidding halt in the bedroom where Derek is just lying on the bed, all hard-dicked, and perfect-muscled and cocky smirk and pretending he can see Stiles.  </p><p>Sometimes it’s nice that he can’t see so well anymore.  Since Stiles doesn’t even have to pretend to be sexy.  There is no pressure to walk across the room like the apex predator that he is.  But if he wanted to try his new runway werewolf walk, well, then nothing is stopping him.  Except for that shoe he trips over and goes ass over teakettle onto the rug in the middle of the floor.</p><p>“And that is why…”</p><p>“No need to say I told you so.  I know, I know shoes belong in the closet.  I know that.”</p><p>“Then why do they never end up in the closet?” his brows are risen, but not in a menacing manner, more in an amused fashion.</p><p>“I think they must grow legs and walk out here,” pulling himself up from the floor by the comforter just in time to see Derek stroking his dick, “let’s not talk.”</p><p>“Okay,” he’s eager to agree and his hands are eager for Stiles’ hips as soon as he settles himself across Derek’s lap.  Lips eager for kisses, tongue eager for action.  He wonders if his scalp will ever stop tingling when Derek’s tongue is in his mouth.  </p><p>Hands trailing south, following the line of his spine, coaxing a shiver from the tips of his toes that turns into a viscous full body thing that only serves to drive Derek’s desires further towards the surface.  Both hands sliding over asscheeks, Stiles lifts a little to allow him the access as they dip into the crack.</p><p>“Mmm, guess I’m bottoming,” he interrupts the kisses just long enough to announce.</p><p>“Only if you want to.”</p><p>“I sure do,” darting in aggressively enough to click teeth and get a chuckle out of Derek before he takes control again.  It’s not that Stiles is a bad kisser, he’s just a very enthusiastic one and sometimes he needs Derek’s calm, cool, collectedness to balance him out.  And the slow glide of his tongue against Stiles’ doesn’t hurt anything.  Neither does the circle his finger makes around Stiles’ rim, “mmpf Derek,” Stiles releases the kiss to lean into his shoulder and inhale the Derekness behind his ear when his finger slips in and starts teasing at his prostate.  </p><p>He should probably be doing something, like lubing up Derek’s dick or giving him a little grind or whatever, but nope.  He’s just going to sit here and let Derek do all the work.  Because he can, because Stiles trusts him and he just kind of likes to be lazy sometimes.  </p><p>Derek’s knees bend, bringing Stiles closer to his chest.  Face turning to lean against Stiles’ temple, pressing lazy soft kisses there when a second finger joins the first.  Stiles slips his hands around Derek to rest on the plains of his shoulder-blades, lifting his head to press lips to lips and revel in the softness of his lips contrasting the roughness of his stubble.  </p><p>“Gimme a third one,” it’s muffled against Derek’s tongue.</p><p>“Why the rush?”</p><p>Stiles sighs, pretending to be offended that his boyfriend would want to take time to do this right instead of banging the hell out of each other quickly and efficiently, “well, what if you are taking your sweet time and then your superwerewolfness picked up on some danger and you have to leave me here half-fucked and crazy for more while you go off and save the world?”</p><p>“I’m not going to do that.”</p><p>“You say that with all certainty now, but…”</p><p>Derek’s hand that was on Stiles’ lower back moves up to grasp his chin, pulling him away from his face to look at his eyes.  The bastard probably can barely see him anyway, which is probably good, it’s probably easier to get turned on when the edges are all blurry and he can just imagine whatever he wants to imagine instead.</p><p>“I’m not going to abandon you when you need me.  Or when you want me.”</p><p>“Yeah, well if it comes down to me wanting your dick in my ass, or a family about to go careening off a bridge to fall to an icy death in ravine then what’ll you choose?  And as much as I want you to say me, I want you to say them.  Because our sex life is super important and all, but life, actual life is more important.  Right?”</p><p>“Well I guess…”</p><p>“I’m going to track a pixie and make them shoot me with dust so I can fly too.  And be your sidekick.”</p><p>“You’re really not sidekick material Stiles.”</p><p>“I know, I’m too clumsy and heedless of danger to be a superhero.”</p><p>“No.  You’re more of a leading man kind of guy.”</p><p>“So you’re saying I’d be part of the Justice League?”</p><p>Oh Hale, that smile.   That smile is something Stiles can’t handle looking at for too long, just like looking at the sun.  Too bright and too brilliant, sending chills rippling down his spine and a shudder that traps Derek’s fingers and shifts them against his prostate, reminding him of why they’re here in the first place.  </p><p>“Thing is, I could so be Batman without the pixie dust.  Batman is just a guy with a bunch of cool gear and a vigilante spirit.  I could so do that.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“But I kind of always wanted to be Wonder Woman.  The most powerful superhero in the DC universe, plus I’d rock that outfit,” he smirks, leaning in to rest nose to nose with Derek.</p><p>“Shall I proceed?  Or are we going to discuss the merits of every superhero in the DC universe first?”</p><p>“Well, let’s see,” Stiles leans back, pretending to stroke his nonexistent beard like he’s deep in thought.  But Derek presses the pads of his fingers right into the center of his pleasure zone, giving them a good crook and every thought falls out of Stiles’ head, his body turns to rubber and he knows he’s trapped by finger in ass, add sex to Derek’s list of superpowers.  </p><p>By the time he’s finished fingering Stiles open, he’s gotten tired of sitting against the headboard.  Or something, because as Stiles slips into sex fog and lingers on the edge of an orgasm, Derek suddenly and gracefully flips them so Stiles is hands and knees in the center of the bed and Derek is traveling down his spine with his mouth.  </p><p>And, “oh Hale,” he’s going to go to town with his mouth now.  He’s on a mission to make Stiles forget that he’s a bad wolf.  And forget that he’s going to lose control of himself soon.  And shit, that brings back bad memories and tightens panic in his chest.  </p><p>“Stiles,” his chin resting on Stiles’ tailbone now, concern in his voice.</p><p>“What?  Fine, Derek, I’m fine, I’m just thinking.”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to be thinking right now.”</p><p>“I know.  I just,” and now he’s being flipped again.  Back to the mattress, Derek settling between his legs and holding most of his weight up with his elbows tucked into Stiles’ sides.  Reaching for his glasses, head titled to one side showing he’s listening intently to everything internal and external that has to do with his mate, “I’m nervous,” Stiles watches his fingers slide through Derek’s hair, tangle into his beard, rub knuckles along his chin.</p><p>“I know.  You’re going to be fine.  You’ll have control mastered by the full moon.  There will be no chains or freezers or tasers.  You’ll be fine.  We’ll just hang out, just us.  And you’ll be fine.  It’s going to be hard to keep control, but you will.  I know you will.  It’s all just a matter of having a strong mind, and I don’t know anyone with a stronger mind than yours,” he leans down to nuzzle against Stiles’ nose.</p><p>Stiles is speechless long enough that Derek adjusts his legs gently, pushing them up towards his body like he’s going to get back to work with his mouth.  But Stiles’ fingers tighten in his hair, “I want you up here.”</p><p>He nods, lowering himself down chest to chest again.  Stiles’ legs wrapping around his hips.  He’s quiet as he smears lube on his cock, eyes remaining on Stiles’ face the whole time, “ready?”</p><p>“More than,” digging his heels into Derek’s thighs for emphasis.</p><p>He keeps his focus right on Stiles’ eyes until Stiles’ lids flicker shut and even then, he can feel the bastard staring, uttering, “you’re beautiful,” before pressing into his lips and stealing the breath out of this lungs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You might as well hit that little kudos button :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>